


The Last Child of the Elvenking

by LordOfLasgalen



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Babies, Bittersweet, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Extended Scene, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Filling In the Gaps, Fluff, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, good parenting, post-Healing of the Elvenking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 18:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21462235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfLasgalen/pseuds/LordOfLasgalen
Summary: Hey kids! I'm back with a short, sweet scene set in the world of Healing of the Elvenking, a gift for one of my readers.Late one night, after returning from the Lilt Ethuil, Thranduil Elvenking has conversations with two of his children: Galithil, the somber smith, and Meredwen, his newborn daughter. The story takes place deep in the Sixth Age of Middle Earth, long after the War of the Ring, when magic has faded almost entirely from the world and the elves have retreated from the world of Men.
Relationships: Thranduil & Thranduil's Child(paternal), Thranduil (Tolkien) & Original Female Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife
Comments: 16
Kudos: 72





	The Last Child of the Elvenking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KayleighH2203](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleighH2203/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Healing of the Elvenking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630604) by [LordOfLasgalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfLasgalen/pseuds/LordOfLasgalen). 

> This is an extended scene from a previously written fanfic called The Healing of the Elvenking. If you haven't read that story, these characters might not make much sense to you. ;) 
> 
> Because many of you have asked, (and because I love them!) I am open to writing more in this world or about these characters! :) If you go to my tumblr, brannonlasgalen.tumblr.com, in my bio/description is the link to my artist's page, where if you're interested you can see some Thranduil art, and put your two cents in for what I should write next!

**SINDARIN GLOSSARY:**

  * **_Adar: _** Father_(formal)_; _**Ada: **_Dad/Daddy_(familiar)_
  * **_Aran: _**King**_; aranen: _**my king_(informal)_
  * **_alaul: _**well grown; a euphemism for much older elves, since "old" isn't a concept among their species
  * **_aran caran_**: the king's red; fortified wine made by Thranduil's vintner which has a calming or soporific effect
  * **_calen: _**bright;** _Calen Ethuil: _**an elvish saying similar to Happy Holidays,_ lit.Bright Spring!_
  * **_Edhel:_** Sindarin Elves' name for themselves_(s)_;_ **Edhil**(pl); _The Dark Edhil are those Avari/Silvan elves who, once the power of the elves begins to fade early in the Sixth Age, refuse to move north Central and Southern Lasgalen and shelter under Thranduil's protective power. They become wights, and slowly fade from reality
  * **_eithro: _**also, too, as well
  * **_elleth/ellyth_**: female elf_(s)_/elves_(pl)_
  * **_ellon/ellyn_**: male elf_(s)_/elves_(pl)_
  * _**Emel: **_Mother
  * **_Ethuil_**: Spring
  * **_fëa: _** The soul/spirit, the font of life and power
  * **_gwinig:_**baby; **_lisyā__ gwinig nîn: _**my sweet baby
  * **_honenior: _**Eldest brother/big brother;_** honenior lîn**_: your big brother; though there are many 'big brothers' among the Thranduilion, the family uses the word to refer to Legolas, the eldest son
  * **_honeg: _**brother_(n, familiar)_
  * **_ion: _**son; _**ion nîn:**_ my son
  * **_Ithiletham:_ **Hall of the Moon _(colloquial); _originally_ Ithil en Tham_
  * **_kaimasan_**: bed-chamber(_Quenya)_; used colloquially amongst Mirkwood elves to differentiate between "the room with the bed" and the bed itself
  * _**Eryn Lasgalen**_: Wood of Greenleaves; Mirkwood was renamed Eryn Lasgalen after the War of the Ring
  * _**lilt: **_ dance_(n);** Lilt Ethuil: **_A holiday of the elves of Mirkwood/Lasgalen celebrating the beginning of the Spring
  * _**loa: **_Growing year in Elvish parlance, equivalent to a year as Mortals see it; a Full Year is approximately 144 loa
  * _**ma: **_good/yes
  * **_Maedrim: _**craftsmen, makers (e.g. blacksmiths, jewelsmiths, weavers, painters, luthiers)
  * _**meleth:**_ love, affection, kindness_(v)_;_** Adareg eithro meleth lîn: **_your Father loves you;_** Melef wîn**_: I wuv 'oo(baby talk)
  * **_melethenin_**: my love_(familiar)_
  * **_meril: _**rose; **_Meredwen:_** Rose Maiden _(name)_
  * _**muinthel: **_sister_(n, familiar)_
  * _**n**__**ettë: **_little girl, daughter_(familiar);_ _**nettë nîn:**_ my little girl
  * **tithenben:** little one_(colloquial)_; Thranduil's pet name for Illyrea Estarían

(Note: This glossary has been compounded for this story only. Most of the vocabulary is attested/canonical, but some words or phrases have been extrapolated by the author.) 

* * *

• Dots are Individual apartments

Strains of music lilted up the King’s Way and whispered their way into Thranduil’s _kaimasan_ as he opened the door for his queen.

“After you, _melethenin_,” he purred.

Illyrea Estarían, Queen of the Lasgalen Elves, slipped past him with a relieved sigh. “I thought the Wild Reel would never end tonight!”

Thranduil put his arms about her from behind and held her close. “Did you not enjoy it?” Gently, he pulled aside the heavy, dark silk of her hair to press his lips to her neck. “I myself found it rather…invigorating.”

Illyrea gave a low hum of pleasure.

A clearing of the throat interrupted them. The Elvenking and his wife looked up to see Galithil, their third eldest son, stand from his place beside an elaborately carved oaken crib in front of the room’s long, cathedral windows.

“_Emel_,” he said formally. “_Adar_.” 

“Oh, Gali!” Illyrea broke away from her husband’s grasp to greet their son. “What do you do here? I thought Nimloth agreed to watch the _gwinig_?”

Galithil leaned down to embrace his dainty mother briefly. “She did, but I heard Gwaelon bemoaning her absence in the Garden Hall and decided to come relieve her that she might enjoy the Lilt Ethuil with her husband.”

“That was kind of you, my son,” Thranduil nodded, crossing to the sideboard. “Though I wonder that you were so willing to forego the celebration?”

He poured three goblets of _aran caran_ and offered them. llyrea waved him away, leaning down instead to gently lift her newest and least expected child into her arms.

Galithil shrugged as he accepted the wine. His shoulders, broadly-muscled from millennia of forging metal, strained his dark leather jerkin. “You know I have very little taste for these things. Dúvaniel with whom I used to dally has married, and no other has yet caught my eye.”

“Well, _you_ might have married her,” his mother said, not for the first time.

"I know, mother."

"Yet you let her get away, and run straight into the arms of that wastrel Rovaldir." Illyrea shook her head.

Again, Galithil shrugged, unperturbed. He was phlegmatic by nature, like unto neither of his parents.

Illyrea made an exasperated sound. “Thranduil, speak to your son. I must go and change Meredwen.” The diminutive queen crossed into the royal closet, past which was the bathing room.

“She means well,” Thranduil said quietly once the door had closed behind her.

"I know." Galithil sipped his wine. 

“She only wishes to see you happy and settled. We both do.”

“But I am happy, _Adar_,” Galilthil insisted. “I love my craft, my work."

"But a family—" Thranduil pressed.

His son snorted. "As for family, I have quite enough. Indeed, I am never alone! I have my brothers and sisters, and their children, and their children’s children, and you and _Emel _and my uncles, and now little Meredwen! How much family does one _ellon_ need?”

Thranduil laughed a little. “Fair enough. Long ago, when it was only _honenior lîn_ and myself, I should never have dreamed that my family would have grown into a- a—“

“Tribe?” Galithil supplied dryly. “Clan? Small nation-state? There are an hundred of us now, including Meredwen. No longer do they call us merely Thranduilion; now we are the Thranduilionnath!”

Thranduil shook his head in mild amazement. “Though I cannot say I am happy that none of the Edhil have borne children since halfway through the Fifth Age, I must agree in this much: an hundred elves in my House is quite enough. Speaking of children, how was Meredwen?”

“Calm as clouds,” her much elder brother replied cheerfully. “I explained to her the types of metals and stones, and what each one required to be refined into usefulness—“

“And that put her to sleep directly?” Thranduil waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

Galithil snorted. “On the contrary, she listened quite soberly. Perhaps she will grow to be a _Maedir_ herself. Though,” he sobered.

Thranduil sipped his wine. “What cause thy trouble?”

“Oh,” Galithil sighed, “only that I remember how it was when I was a child, the things Moedir taught me; things we could not accomplish in these days. Like the lamp in the Ithiletham: a perfect replica of the moon in her orb, which shines with captured moonlight in time with the true moon's phase. Eight thousand years gone Moedir crafted that alone in but a few weeks! Now, not with all the _Maedrim_ bringing our wills to bear could we recreate it.”

“The world is changed,” Thranduil said softly. “As it was meant to do. There is not such magic left to us as there once was.”

“And in the course of Meredwen’s life there shall be less still.”

“Yes.”

Galithil hesitated. “_Adar_?”

“Yes,_ ion nîn_?”

“This loss of magic, is that why—?” He could not say it, but his eyes flicked towards the bathing room, and his newest sister.

Thranduil considered Galithil’s eyes. One was greyish green like his mother’s, but the other was the bright aquamarine of sunlight on water: the sign of the Blessing of the Valar. Galithil, like all their children, had inherited from Illyrea some of the grace that had been given her by the Valar Ulmo. Thousands of years past, Ulmo had answered the prayer of a woman of the Haladin: to help her unborn half-elvish babe live long enough to change the fate of the world. To do so, Ulmo had been obliged to pass onto the babe some of his own power, thus changing her, strengthening her; making her, in a way, _his_ child as well.

Though she had not known it then, Illyrea’s power had sustained her, buoyed her up during the long, difficult days of her childhood and kept her safe, so that she might be present in Thranduil’s kingdom during the days leading to the War of the Ring. It was that power which had given her healing abilities great enough to impress even Thranduil Elvenking, and secure a place in his court. Thranduil had given her the name Estariel, Lady of Healing. Though she herself would never credit it, Illyrea Estariel's presence in Mirkwood had turned the tide of the Enemy’s plans, saving Thranduil and his people. She had Healed the Elvenking, body and soul, and given him strength to fight against Sauron's armies.

After the War, Thranduil had taken her to wife, conscious of her grace and power, but swayed only by his love for her. He had not cared that she was a child of the Valar, though he revered it; and certainly he had not thought of the effect of her power on their children. It was only after their eldest twins, Thalien and Tharanel, had been born, with one eye blue as Thranduil’s own and one bright aquamarine that Thranduil had understood. The only Child of the Valar was a generous soul, and she would share her power with those whom she loved. Every child born to Thranduil Elvenking and Illyrea Estarían had been given some measure of the grace of the Valar, marked by their mismatched eyes; eyes that glowed, like their mother's, when they called upon that grace.

Every child, that is, but one.

Meredwen had been unexpected, unplanned, her birth coming thousands of years after Thranduil and Illyrea had concluded their childbearing. Even had they been Mortal, this would have been a shock; yet it was more so, for the Eldar controlled their birthing in a way Men could not. There was no such thing as an unwanted pregnancy among elf-kind, or there had not been. The Elvenqueen giving birth against her will was, in many eyes, terrifying sign of the fading power of the elves. Even more distressing, Meredwen had not been born with the Eye of the Valar. She was an ordinary elf-child born to extraordinary parents, and Thranduil’s heart was much disquieted by it.

“Forgive me, _aranen_,” Galithil murmured when his father did not reply at once. “I overstepped.”

“No,” Thranduil sighed. “No, you have a right to ask; it is only the answer I do not like.”

“Then she is,” Galithil struggled with the word, “ordinary?”

The Elvenking shook his head. “Meredwen is… not as you are, you and your other siblings. To her the grace of the Valar Ulmo has not been passed.”

Galithil hung his head in pity; for he foresaw the difficulty the child would have, being the least of her kin. “Do we know why?”

“Perhaps it is that we did not intend to create her,” Thranduil downed the last of his wine. “Perhaps it is only that as Middle Earth has faded, so too have we all; even your mother is not so powerful as she once was. Perhaps the grace of the Valar will leave all of us eventually.”

Galithil heaved a great and mournful sigh. "We are fading, aren't we? Not just those Dark Edhil who chose to live beyond the Veil of your power, but all of us."

Thranduil smiled a little and put his arm about his son’s shoulders. “There now, do not mourn overmuch! Here we endure, safe within the boundaries of our Wood. Spring has come, like it always has; the sun still rises and the moon still sets. All is not lost.”

“Yes, but Meredwen—“

“Will be cherished,” Thranduil said firmly. “Now, enough of dark and dire thoughts. Lilt Ethuil is not yet over; the dancing yet awaits you! Go admire that moon lamp of Moedir’s while you whirl some lovely elleth about the floor, hmm?” He gave Galithil a gentle push towards the door.

Galithil smiled reluctantly and let himself be persuaded. "_Calen Ethuil_, Father," he said, closing the door behind him.

"_Calen Ethuil_, Galithil." 

Thranduil stared after him for a long moment before going in search of his wife and youngest child.

“Illyrea?” He called softly as he passed into their closet, a room nearly as large as most elves’ _kaimasan_. “My love, is—“

Thranduil stopped, and a slow smile spread itself over his face. Illyrea reclined upon a chaise in the dressing area, asleep, with little Meredwen in a sling across her chest. From her exposed breast, Thranduil surmised she had fallen asleep feeding the babe, and Meredwen had fallen asleep afterwards. The queen was a devoted mother, and had never once complained of the many years of strain and toil it took to raise an elf-babe; but the prolonged infant years took a toll upon her, and she was often weary.

For a moment Thranduil admired his queen, still in her party gown of indigo silk. Stones of purple amatrine in silver chasings adorned her neck, sparkled on her wrists and fingers. Her silver crown, its branches woven with tiny purple crocus blossoms, sat askew over her dark hair. Even her silk slippers were bedecked with tiny jewels. Thranduil had a love of gems and ornament, and over the centuries had garnered much delight from draping his wife in bright jewels. But as he gazed upon Illyrea, the Elvenking felt once more how much her beauty eclipsed even the fairest jewel, and how much his love for her eclipsed any other.

“Oh, _tithenben_,” he murmured, “how I adore thee.”

Gently he took his tiny wife and even tinier daughter up in his arms and bore them back to the bed they shared. There he set her, pulling the coverlet up to her waist; then with careful fingers began to remove her various ornaments, that she might rest comfortably.

His ministrations were interrupted by a soft chirrup; he looked down to see Meredwen’s soft blue eyes opened wide.

“_Mae govannen, nettë nîn_,” he whispered. “Are we awake, then?”

Meredwen burbled uncomfortably, and tossed her head.

“Very well, one moment.” Thranduil unbuttoned the catches of the sling, and lifted Meredwen into his arms. “There now, is that better?”

She gave a little cry, her tiny features crumpling.

“Oh oh oh,” Thranduil soothed his babe, holding her close as he moved away from the bed. “There now, no need to cry, my little one. Come, we shall stand by the fire, hmm? We mustn’t wake dear _Emel_, must we? No. She is very weary.”

Meredwen quieted, but her little hands still clenched, and she moved about as though unable to find comfort.

There had been a time when Thranduil would have felt out of his element; indeed, he had often passed the infant Legolas off to his mother or nurses for fear of doing him damage. But that had been long and long ago; after raising fourteen children with his second wife, and caring for dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, the Elvenking had quite mastered the art of it.

“I know that little squirm about,” he said. “We have had our supper, and now it sits ill in our middle, yes? There now.” He put the edge of the fabric sling over one shoulder, then placed Meredwen on it and gently patted her back. “Just a little pat for us, hmm? A little pat, that’s what we need! A little pat here, a little pat there, and— ah!”

Meredwen stopped fussing, hiccuped a moment— and spit up, all over the Elvenking’s sumptuous silk robes.

"Oh no," Thranduil sighed. “We missed the sling, didn’t we?”

Meredwen sat up and put her fist in her mouth, her little eyes wide in alarm. "Oh moh!"

“Oh no!” Thranduil opened his eyes wide at her, then laughed. “All is well, _nettë nîn_. Galion will know how to clean it, because Galion is very clever, isn’t he?”

Meredwen burbled back happily at him; she liked Galion very much.

“Yes he is, he is very dear. Who else is very dear, hm?”

Meredwen reached a tiny fist back towards the bed.

Thranduil glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, very good, _Emel_ is very dear. We love our _Emel_, don’t we?”

“Meh!” Meredwen said happily.

“Eh-mehl,” Thranduil agreed.

“Meh!” She smiled a toothless grin. This was the way of elvish babes; their minds grew far apace of their bodies. Meredwen would learn to speak years before she learned to crawl.

“Who else is very dear, hmm?” Thranduil took her through all the names of her family. “There’s Uncle Vanen, yes? And Uncle Feren, and Uncle Vanen loves Uncle Feren very much, doesn’t he? And there is Erianwen, and Nimloth, do not they care for thee when _Adar_ and _Emel_ must go?”

Meredwen shook her tiny fists and kicked her feet happily. “Riahweh! Nihwoh!”

“Yes, very good! And there is Tharanel and Thalien, and Galithil— yes,” he nodded when she pointed towards the door where Galithil had come and gone, “and Galanor who looks the same but is not, and who is a healer like _Emel_. And there is Gwaelas the Steward, Illirien the archer and Ithirian the scholar, Vandir the gemsmith and Luthion the bard, Eluneniel the fisher, Erianor who grows the pretty flowers, Húrael and Varíen our warriors, and then Reaneth, who is just a very tiny bit older than you."

He crossed to the fireplace mantel then. "See there?" He pointed towards a small, exquisitely done portrait in a silver frame. Within its circle sat a smiling ellon with hair of sun-touched silver and eyes as bright blue as his father's, holding a Galadhrim bow. "We mustn't forget _honenior lîn _Legolas, must we? No. He has gone to Valinor, which is very far away, but still we love him. Can you say Legolas, my clever one?"

Meredwen thought about it. "Weh! Wehwa!"

"Legolas, yes. Now, that is very many brothers and sisters, is it not?”

Meredwen frowned a little bit and nodded, for it was indeed a great many. “Honeh, mooiedeh!”

“_Ma_, _honeg_ _a_ _muinthel_,” he agreed, pronouncing ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ carefully. “And they all love you very much. You are a very clever _nettë, _aren’t you? Yes indeed, for you are only two-_loa_, and that is very, very little.”

“Ah?” Meredwen seemed surprised; for to her, of course, two growing years was a very long time indeed.

“It is! Very small,” Thranduil nodded quite seriously. “But next year you will be three, and then four, and soon you will be as _alaul_ as your _Ada_!”

Meredwen pressed her little finger into Thranduil’s chin and made a questioning sound.

“Yes, just like Ada. Ada is very _alaul_.”

“Ah-wah?”

“I? Let me think, I am almost—“ Thranduil was forced to pause then. How old _was_ he? So old that he had seen the great deeds of the First Age; so old that his childhood home had long since sunk beneath the Belegaer Sea. So old that his wife, who had lived five-thousand, six hundred years of Men, was less than half his age. Entire Ages had come and gone in the life of Thranduil, and so much had the world changed that he himself was now but a myth to the Men who lived just on the borders of his own Wood of Greenleaves.

“Almost twelve thousand-_loa_, or eighty-three Full Years,” he said finally, then laughed at Meredwen’s disgusted expression. “I know that must mean nothing to you, but it is a very big number. Very old,” he sighed. “So old that I did not ever expect to be an _Ada_ again. You were a surprise, _nettë nîn_, yes you were!”

Meredwen knew surprises well. After all, she played ‘Surprise’ with her _Emel_ and her nurses nearly every day. Obediently, she put her little hands over her face, then threw her pudgy arms out wide. “Su-pie!”

“Surprise!” Thranduil exclaimed, and grinned. “Yes! You were a very great surprise to us.”

He sobered then, looking into her eyes; innocent and lovely, yet so different from all her kin. She would not be great in _fëa_, his youngest daughter, nor great in strength. She would not have the magic of her kin, and the Valar would not prize her. Whether she would become great in beauty or in wisdom Thranduil did not yet know, but she was already a little behind where she ought to be at her age. Though he would never say it in her hearing, Thranduil knew there was a very good chance she would be the most ordinary of the Eldar. More, there was no way to protect her from eventually understanding what it meant to be the only child of the Eldar who had not been planned. Thranduil’s heart ached to think a child of his might grow to feel herself the least of her kind, or unwanted.

“Well,” his voice broke a little, “surprises are the best of all things. And so you were, my rose maiden; a beautiful, beautiful surprise. Doesn’t _Ada_ love you more than anything? Yes he does.”

He put his forehead to hers, gently, and swore to himself and the Valar that though she might be the least of his children in all other ways, Meredwen would be the greatest loved, by all of them.

“Oh little one,” he sighed. “'Tis a long road yet before you.” 

Meredwen reached up and placed her tiny, round hands upon his pale cheeks. “_Ada_,” she said clearly.

Thranduil’s eyes popped open. He leaned back just far enough to look at her. “What did you say?”

“_Ada_,” Meredwen repeated. “_Ada nîn_.” _My Daddy. "Melef wîn."_

“You do?" Thranduil's heart was almost too full for words. “_Adareg eithro meleth lîn_." _Your Father loves you, too._ "Always."

Meredwen’s laugh was like the sun coming up.


End file.
